


sunday pancakes

by sundazed



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Best Friends, Breakfast, Fluff, I don’t know what I was trying to achieve here, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 11:11:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16638848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundazed/pseuds/sundazed
Summary: Minhyun gets stood up, and Seongwu knows exactly how to make him feel better.





	sunday pancakes

“So I’m guessing your date last night didn’t go well?”

Minhyun drops his head on the breakfast counter, forehead to surface, as his gut churns at the word _date_. “I’m stupid.”

“Well, that’s a given. Hwangcheongie.” Minhyun grunts at the nickname. “But how stupid could you have been for you to mope this much on a Sunday morning? Your favorite day of the week?”

When he doesn’t respond, Minhyun feels Seongwu poke his side with the clean end of the wooden spoon that he’d been using to mix the pancake batter. A few drops land on the floor, and if this were the regular Minhyun, he wouldn’t even waste a second to grab a tissue and wipe the floor clean. But this Minhyun is sad and sulky and just wants a stack of pancakes smothered with syrup to make him feel better.

He lifts his head, and only then does he realize that Seongwu’s wearing his fake abs apron and he almost smiles. It’s cleaner than his own (a beige one with a big navy blue M on the center) but in his defense, Seongwu mostly comes to their kitchen to _eat_ what Minhyun _cooks_.

“When are those pancakes going to be ready?”

Spreading some butter on the hot griddle, Seongwu tests him. “Stop changing the subject. They’ll be ready when you start treating me again like your best friend.”

Minhyun rolls his eyes. He thinks about hurling a pancake at his head.

“Wow. Attitude.”

Minhyun continues to ignore him and pours himself a cup of coffee that Seongwu’s also already taken the liberty of brewing. He adds milk and sugar, then takes a careful sip before busying himself with his phone.

“You know you’ll feel better when you talk about it….” Seongwu starts as he pours a ladle full of batter onto the hot surface. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

Minhyun knows. But the feeling doesn’t stop growing heavier.

“This,” Seongwu draws an imaginary circle between them, and Minhyun finishes for him, “is a safe space. I know.”

“Then what’s holding you back?”

Minhyun grunts, “It’s just so...embarrassing.”

“Oh, just try me! I’m your best friend,” he repeats. “I’ve seen you at your worst. Worser than worst, if you really think about it. Remember Dongho’s birthday?” Minhyun cringes at the memory, and tries to distract himself by looking at the griddle, his lips curling up at the sight of the perfectly round soon-to-be fluffy pancake.

Seongwu probably spots him staring, and says, “You know I have the power to not give you access to these bad boys, right?”

“I know.” Minhyun folds his arms. “But are you powerful enough to decline me?” He sends him a flying kiss then, to which Seongwu responds with fake vomiting. Mature.

 

Then Seongwu freezes.

 

  
“Y-You,” he points the spatula accusingly, like he’s just caught Minhyun in the act. He has a habit of overreacting to the most mundane things. “That-that thing. That’s what you did, didn’t you?”

“What,” Minhyun deadpans while gesturing for Seongwu to check if the pancakes are ready to be flipped.

Seongwu does as he’s told, shakes his head nope, not yet and continues, “You scared him off with that, didn’t you? The moment he came in looking, I don’t know, fresh and fly, you just blurted out that you wanted to bed him, huh?”

Seongwu continues to point the spatula at him, tipping it forward like a reporter waiting for his interviewee to confirm a groundbreaking controversy.

Minhyun stares at the spatula, thinking about what he should do. Minhyun hates the way Seongwu always acts like he can read him like the back of his hand, even though, admittedly, more often than not, Seongwu really could.

 

This time, however, Seongwu’s terribly mistaken.

 

But Seongwu likes being right, and Minhyun... well, Minhyun just likes his peace. His best friend’s stubborn, and a force to be reckoned with, one he can’t deal with at his current state of dreariness, so Minhyun decides to go along with it first.

“Ahem, ahem,” Minhyun fakes a cough. “Uh, first of all, who, in this day and age, calls someone fly?” Seongwu ignores this and shoves the spatula closer to Minhyun’s mouth. “But, uh, yeah. Yeah. That’s exactly what I did. You got me.”

Minhyun shakes his head in feigned defeat as Seongwu pumps his fist in the air, jump-starting his own mini celebration.

“I can’t believe you blew your chance because of that, you dumbass,” Seongwu shakes his head.

Minhyun fakes a laugh, “I know. I’m dumb.”

  
But Seongwu falls quiet. Ah, he sees right through him. He always does.

 

“There’s something else you’re not telling me.” Seongwu’s voice drips with suspicion, and Minhyun can’t help but feel guilty.

 

But a look of concern meets him when Seongwu forces him (one index finger beneath his chin is all it takes) to look straight into his eyes; one that tells him he’s not letting him evade the questions any longer, no matter how hard he tries to. He still wants to hurl a pancake at him, but softer. Maybe.

  
“Well, I guess you missed one important detail.”

  
Seongwu stays mum and waits. Puppy eyes, Minhyun notes.

  
He takes one final breath, and then,

  
“He never came.”

 

“What?”

  
Minhyun wrings his hands and tries to go back to scrolling through his timeline—one of their favorite restaurants in Hongdae just declared bankruptcy and is closing down. Oh, no.

  
“What did you say?”

  
Minhyun doesn’t look up. The disappointment from last night making its way from his head to his gut. “He didn’t—come.”

“Are you saying that he,” Seongwu says carefully, waving his microphone spatula in the air. “He—that fucking bastard—stood you up?”

  
Minhyun nods.

 

“Unbelievable.”

  
“Seongwu, the pancake.” Minhyun reminds him. But Seongwu’s too busy processing this new piece of information and has begun pacing around their tiny kitchen. Exasperatedly, Minhyun takes the spatula from his best friend and discards the burnt pancake into the trash bin.

Seeing as Seongwu’s still too busy muttering expletives or an incantation (he’s not really sure which one), Minhyun decides to take over. He feels his stomach grumble, and stood up or not, he’s not missing out on Sunday morning pancakes.

“Weren’t you out for like... five hours last night, though? Did you really wait that long for him? Out there? In the middle of January?”

Minhyun shudders at the memory of him waiting outside the movie theater, a pair of tickets in his coat pocket. He’d tried contacting him countless times, to no avail, but continued to wait nonetheless.

He waited even after people started pouring out of the cinema, signaling that the movie’s over and his date was still missing in action. He feels like an idiot now; but at the time, he’d thought braving the cold would be worth it because _maybe_ , he just fell asleep or _maybe_ there’s an accident on the freeway and the the roads are clogged up or _maybe_ he fell asleep on the freeway which caused the freak accident.

In hindsight, those are all ridiculous inferences. But _hey_ , in Minhyun’s defense, the cold fogged up his judgment.

He checked the morning news as soon as he woke up, and Seoul was peaceful the night before. No sign of possible road-related accidents. No alien abductions, no reported burglary.

No texts, either.

  
When he walked out of his room and into the kitchen ten minutes ago, Seongwu had already prepared ingredients for breakfast and was excited to hear about his date. But sadly, Minhyun had nothing to report.

Seongwu always looked out for him, and vice versa, so Minhyun isn’t too surprised that his best friend’s more furious than he is. Minhyun just really wants to eat his pancakes, spend the rest of the day watching whatever drama Seongwu recommends him, and forget about the whole thing.

“You know what?” Minhyun starts pouring the batter onto the pan again. “I think I really don’t want to talk about it.”

But Seongwu’s stubborn. “Not one text? No apology at all?”

Minhyun shakes his head no.

“What a fucking asshole,” Seongwu declares and Minhyun tries to laugh it off. It doesn’t work.

“Oh, you’re such an idiot.” Seongwu pokes his side, folds his arms in front of him, and cocks his head to the side, the way he always does every time Minhyun, which seldom happens really, does something stupid. He sighs, “Our Hwangcheongie.”

“I told you to drop that,” Minhyun retorts, but there’s no bite to his words.

They stay there like that for a while, only the sound of the idle buzz coming from the radio in the living room and Seongwu’s occasional are you sure you don’t want me to find him I promise I won’t kill him yet filling the silence between them.

Minhyun’s already on his fifth perfect pancake (he’s mastered it after countless weekends of what Seongwu aptly named as Weekend Pancake Extravaganza) when Seongwu announces, “Whoever that blind date was, they’re really missing out. I mean, who the fuck makes pancakes that geometrically perfect?!”

“Only me.”

Seongwu nods knowingly, “Only you.”

One thing’s for sure, nothing beats Sundays like this with Seongwu. So Minhyun smiles, the sting of last night’s disappointment slowly dissipating, and shifts his body to wrap his best friend in a tight hug which in their own unspoken language means I love you thank you what would I do without you.

Seongwu, still sporting a worried pout, squeezes back, so genuinely warm and reassuring: I wouldn’t know what to do without you, too.

He then points to the fridge, instructing Seongwu to bring out the fruits and maple syrup for Minhyun; and then to the cupboard for marshmallows and Nutella for Seongwu.

“Do we still have powdered sugar?” Seongwu asks, rummaging through their stuffed cabinet owing to them going grocery shopping the other day (They always navigate the aisles fluidly: Minhyun takes care of the essentials, Seongwu’s in charge of the fun stuff).

“Uh, the jar should still be half-full,” Minhyun replies as he transfers the huge fluffy pancakes onto two separate plates; three for him, four for Seongwu.

Minhyun begins slicing strawberries and bananas, placing them carefully on top of his stack. Seongwu returns to the counter, and does the same, but with his mini marshmallows and more messily.

It’s always a silent competition between them: who makes it look prettier or tastier or like it was taken straight out of an IHOP or Denny’s menu. Even though it always ends with them destroying their plates in minutes, they put extra effort each time. It’s tradition. It’s therapeutic, Seongwu would always say. And it is.

“Maybe next time, you should try bananas instead of marshmallows. I’m getting diabetes just looking at that,” Minhyun scrunches his nose as Seongwu places generous blobs of Nutella on top of his. He almost decides to skip on the syrup because Seongwu’s definitely consuming more sugar than the recommended daily intake for the two of them combined.

“But it’s good for the soul,” Seongwu sing-songs as he adds more marshmallows on top. “Can’t forget the finishing touch!”

He dusts some sugar on his, looks at Minhyun’s plate - pauses - and proceeds to sprinkle some when he sees Minhyun nod and sigh in defeat.

“Sunday is cheat day, remember?”

“You eat this junk everyday,” Minhyun points out, standing up to get some utensils.

Seongwu counters, “And yet I can still run 5 miles a day. Plus, I look hella good.”

“You can barely run to the front door without limping on your way back.”

“Shut up.”

Seongwu takes the fork and knife from Minhyun and quickly shoves a four-layered bite into his mouth (six, if Minhyun counts the chocolate and marshmallows), visibly pleased by the taste of what Minhyun calls Death by Sugar.

Seongwu moans—“oh my god, you’re amazing. Get in me, get in me, get in me”— and takes another mouthful.

“Fuck,” Minhyun slices through his own stack, making sure to get a little bit of everything. “Stop making sex noises in my kitchen, Ong.”

“I can’t help it when they’re just so gooood,” Seongwu drags the last word, mouth full of marshmallows and chocolate and fluff.

“Stop it.”

Seongwu, evidently forgetting that his teeth would be covered in chocolate, gives Minhyun the biggest, most idiotic grin. “Why? Are you turned on?”

In response (he’s not quite sure what compelled him to), Minhyun takes some sugar from the jar and throws it at his face. “You’re gross. Close your mouth.”

Clearly and understandably shocked, Seongwu sits there, eyes growing into the size of billiard balls. Minhyun braces himself for what would come next—he’s known Seongwu for years and he’s one who doesn’t just accept an attack like that; retaliation is inevitable.

But instead of taking his own handful and dumping it on Minhyun’s head, Seongwu continues chewing and chewing and chewing, as obnoxiously and loudly as possible. Minhyun quickly clasps his hands over his ears, groaning in sheer annoyance, “Can’t you just go back to the sex noises instead?”

“Now, you’d like that won’t you?” Seongwu teases. He points to his face, “What are you going to do about this?”

Minhyun laughs, bowing his head to focus on his breakfast. “The sink’s right there. Just go wash it off, Seongwu-yah.”

“No, I don’t want to.”

An idea pops into Minhyun’s mind. “Oh, yeah. You’re right. I should be responsible. Sorry.”

“Yeah, you should. Clean up after yourself, Hwang.”

Minhyun forces himself to keep a straight face on and stands up carefully. He extends his body across the counter then, and with one swift move, licks the sugar off of Seongwu’s face.

At contact, Seongwu pushes Minhyun away and lurches backward in surprise—to which Minhyun reaches for his collar, barely stopping him from falling to the floor.

Seongwu’s ears go red immediately, and Minhyun knows his are just as red.

Then Minhyun laughs—he genuinely and wholeheartedly laughs—like he hasn’t for days. And maybe Seongwu feels the warmth too, because he returns it, wholeheartedly, but not without scolding him, “Yah! I meant you should have gotten a wet tissue and wiped my face, you dickhead.”

But they keep laughing, even when Seongwu’s already by the sink, washing the sugar and Minhyun’s saliva off.

Even when Seongwu’s returned to his seat, his face clean and saliva-free, and throwing marshmallows across the table.

They’ve known each other for so long that they make each other laugh so quickly and effortlessly. Although, Minhyun remembers, that even then, Seongwu was an expert on how to turn his gloomy days into brighter ones.

He still is.

 


End file.
